Custos
by SCP-blank
Summary: AU. At age eighteen Petunia becomes recruited by a KGB agent, who needs a local, available and willing source. Eventually she becomes a spy, hacker and a thieve. Eight years later she gets stuck with baby-sitting duty of her late, hated sister's son Harry. Endgame - Harry/ Su Li. Ruthless!Smart!Petunia. Petunia getting her revenge on Lily in a very twisted way. Smart!Confused!Harry


**AN: I'm somewhat rusty since I've not been writing in English for a while, have gotten out of Harry Potter fandom so I'm taking countless liberties with it (though any OOC-ness would be explained). Unbetaed. Also, though there would be no femslash or slash, a LGBT theme would definitely figure, in a very, very particular, somewhat funny (at least to me) way.  
**

**Custos is a latin word. But I'm sure you can see the association with certain english words, too.  
**

**Custos  
**

**Prologue - What went down in the docks of Thames.  
**

**London, Great Britain. 1973, Autumn. 1700 hours, GTM.  
**

Working as a junior secretary in the only metropolis she had ever been to was really not cutting it for Petunia. Freshly out of all girl's boarding school that made a considerable dent in her parent's savings, Petunia, asides from having insider's information about a parallel population that lived all round the world because her perfect little sister was one of them, wizards, that is, was much too sheltered to live comfortably in London.

For example, just yesterday she witnessed a drug deal go down and stared all the while the exchange was conducted. Petunia had even debated whether to contact authorities or not, before deciding against it.

Normal Londoner wouldn't have even battered their eyelashes as it was just mild child's stuff.

Petunia was living in a shoe box of an apartment, earning a salary that after paying all bills wasn't enough to pamper herself with a meal at Antonio's, the posh pseudo Italian restaurant that seemed so inviting with its tasteful decor and palatable smells.

In short, she was angry and desperate. DESPERATE, with all capitals. There had to be some alternative to earn more, without degrading herself to an escort service. Though Petunia had heard from her former school mate Juliet that it provided considerable income, the only complaint being lack of pension plan which was because of illegitimacy of the business.

In any case, Petunia was rational enough to know that no self-respecting escort service would even hire her. The months of surviving on bread loaves and black tea, and continuous never-ending desk job had left her flat as a board and not even in the attractive way.

The newspapers weren't effective way of finding jobs, either. Petunia supposed she could have gone to the rising pharmaceutical's company and offered herself to their drug testing program but she just couldn't think that temporary wealth would outweight the inevitable illnesses that would occur in later years.

Perhaps that is why she had come to her neighbour, Judy. The latter had offered Petunia a job - no questions asked - just shy of a few months after Petunia had settled into the flat. As far as gossip went, Judy Trenchcoat was a P.I.'s assistant.

Without much hope Petunia had fixed her updo from tight to tight-as-hell and went a few stories up, before knocking onto the door, sharply.

There was a crash inside and Petunia heard someone shout in... was that Russian?.. It didn't sound pleasant and she was about to leave but the door opened and she was grabbed inside by an armed man, who held the revolver straight at her.

It was all to surreal for Petunia to even shake, she was past shock, it seemed.

"Kto eta? Otvetʹ mne, shlyukha!*" The male Russian, who was almost-but-not-quite choking Petunia, seemed distressed and angry as he pointed the weapon at Judy Trenchcoat who sat on the whoopee cushion with a black eye and a broken wrist. Judy ignored the man, which impressed Petunia since he was kinda threatening to end her life then and there.

"Ne panikuyte , pozhaluysta.*" Judy's voice in Russian sounded much more rough than in English but she seemed perfectly fluent, at least to Petunia's ears.

"You're Russian, but you pretend to be British?" Petunia asked, prehaps letting her mouth run before her rational side took over the brain. But as there was a gun and a man inclined to use it she deemed her response perfectly ordinary, just not sensible. She'd never been good in stress situations.

"I pretend nothin'." Judy answered and then in a sudden movement took the vase from the table next to her and threw it with an expert aim at the Russian maniac, who, upon impact to his head, fell down. "Now, I think we should have a little lady chat."

Petunia gaped.

* * *

"It's just very inconsistent. " Petunia uttered, almost only to herself, after Judy (or whatever her real name was) had cuffed the male thug to a heater and made them nice herbal tea and explained.

Judy stared at her disapprovingly.

"Would you mind elaborating?" Petunia frowned inwardly. Either Judy had a personality disorder that made her speech pattern irregular - sometimes like a hobo, sometimes like a sophisticated Londoner, or she had been acting for so long it was all jumbled up in that brain of hers.

Actually that would explain a lot.

"Well," Petunia took a deep breath. "If you really were a member of Russian Comitee for State Security why on earth would you're cover be so mediocre? And why on earth would you tell me about it anyway?"

"I just told you I'm a Russian spy and you say it's improbable?" the woman sounded amused and slightly disappointed with the lack of reaction. "Are you sure you're not in shock?"

"Why?" Petunia started sounding a little lost and intimidated, though she tried to hide her shaking hands by fiddling with her cup.

"Unfortunately, I've been inactive lately." Judy began to indulge Petunia in her story. But to the Evans girl it was clear she wasn't saying the whole truth, which made the spy claim all that much less credible. "I'm rusty, my combative skills are shody-" She looked pointedly at her broken wrist, now supported with two peace emergency cast. "-and because you witnessed this whole pathetic thing with that great idiot." Judy sighed. "And because of that I now have to clean everything up, get rid of all the evidence-"

"Who is that guy, exactly?"

"Just a rogue subordinate of a self-proclaimed mob, nothing serious."

The ridiculiousness of that statement almost made Petunia smile. It was on the same level of abnormal as her sister and her lunatic of a friend.

"So, since I've got to do it now, before he wakes up or before anyone notices him gone and manages to connect him with me..."

'The tea was poisoned', Petunia thinks numbly, feeling rather cold and strangely detached.

"...You will have to do a meet with my contactor for me."

"What?"

* * *

The docks are not nearly as impressive as Petunia hoped, at least that's her first impression. The supposed meet is illogical, questionable, ridiculous and perhaps even somewhat suspicious. She wouldn't even be here if not the cursed Fleming's novels she was hooked on currently.

It was around seven p.m. and still quite bright. Too bright for a possible murder to take place, so that appeased her a little.

The docks weren't that interesting because unlike the ones used for trading goods, these were all personal boats - yachts, sailboats, caters. People of various financial backgrounds mingled as Petunia made her way to the Corner Pub that was, ironically enough, on a corner, and let herself in.

There were few customers inside, the radio was emitting poor-quality blues or jazz (she could never distinguish them). That is poor quality both in the signal interference that made the music hiccup again and again, and because the musician that was playing it must have been completely stoned when they composed it.

The barmaid was chitchatting to a fat man with genuine face, there were no waiters about so Petunia made her way to the counter in hopes for attracting attention but a quiet cough stopped her.

At the table along the wall, an undescribable gentleman clad in a three-piece suit smiled at her tightly and gestured to take a seat next to him.

Petunia, knowing enough to not argue, did as was expected of her and waited for him to speak up. It was a tell of how anxious she really was: when Petunia got nervous, she started filling the silence with mindless comments, and when she got really nervous, she became mute and fiddled with anything she could get her hands on.

"Your necklace, what does it symbolise exactly?" It was a trick question, because since the contact was to be made anonymous neither side new what the players looked like and they had decided upon an alternative - the contactor wearing a bright yellow striped tie (that offended Petunia in so many levels) and the contracted person wearing a gaudy massive blob of rock, that was just plain silly but ingenious if uncomfortable for the wearer.

"Nothing." Petunia replied, trying to appear calm. "It's a piece of rock. What can it symbolise?"

"I was wondering the same thing, myself." The mystery guy smirked. "Now lets talk business."

"That's what I'm here for, right?" Petunia answered, feeling slightly more bold.

"Yes, indeed, though I have to say I've been expecting someone more experienced." His English was flawless, even more so than Judy's. And on that note, how come a Russian operative was speaking to a potential hire not in his own language. It was fishy, indeed.

"Why aren't you talking in Russian?" She asked, acting nonchalant, though by the man's expression it was clear he wasn't buying it. If he's going to start getting suspicious, I'll just pretend to be offended at the young age jab.

"Oh, I've heard you prided yourself in being properly educated, but lets save us both the embarrassment. You're not Russian if you were not born in Rasiya*, no matter who your parents were. But the pride is admirable, woman."

Aha, so Judy did lie. Or at least omitted and jumbled some facts.

At least she didn't know the man was going to be a condescending arse of a chauvinistic pig.

Of course, Petunia didn't tell him that.

"So what exactly is this job?" She asked instead. The man smirked and pushed a thick folder towards Petunia. "Page six, if you will."

Petunia shuffled around the papers, feeling like back at her desk at her day job. The documents were all in Russian - gibberish to her eye, and there were even some blackened information but the page six contained photos of a tall, not a bad-looking thirty-something white-collar man.

"So? What this man has to do with all this?"

"He's the job. You have to get close to him, learn his routine, his secrets, and most importantly what he's dealing with at the Office. And all of this has to be done with utmost discretion."

Petunia, being obsessed with Fleming, had immediately heard the undercurrents in the man's voice.

"Home Office, you mean?"

"Exactly." The contactor smirked in a self-satisfied way. "The payment for perfect execution will be quite generous."

"How much?"

Hook, line, sinker, Petunia Evans had changed her whole life course with one question.

* * *

Translations:

*Who's this, slut?

*Don't panic, please.

* Russia


End file.
